


Mommy Issues

by objectlesson



Category: Cars (Pixar Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Age Play, Butch/Femme, Christmas Smut, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/F, Hangover, Hating Christmas, Holidays, Humanized Cars, Light Dom/sub, Mommy Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-18 09:37:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21958579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson
Summary: Lightning hates Christmas, Doc changes her mind.
Relationships: Doc Hudson/Lightning McQueen
Comments: 8
Kudos: 61





	Mommy Issues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DumbestBitchhh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DumbestBitchhh/gifts).



> MERRY CHRISTMAS LILY AND ISABELLE! This is technically a gift from Isabelle to Lily (what a wonderful gf you have) but it also feels like my gift to both of you in a lot of ways. I adore you both and hope you enjoy this and sorry about the gratuitous mommy kink rip.

The day after Thanksgiving, Lightning wakes up hungover before dawn, heart racing and head pounding. She feels awful, so the only thing she can do to prevent a day spent alternating between the bathroom floor and the couch is to drag herself out of bed for a brisk, chilly run. 

The fog is freezing and invigorating and she’s feeling pretty alive when she comes back, breathless and sore, the few blonde strands that escaped from her pony tail crusted to her hairline in sweat. She ditched her hoodie halfway through the run in favor of looping it around her waist, so when she lets herself in she’s in nothing but yoga pants and a sports bra, and she can’t _wait_ to tease Doc, who harbors a particular weakness for variations on this outfit. “Hey,” she calls, kicking her Nikes off in the foyer, earbuds still in. “Just did a 5k around town, only puked once, in Red’s flowers but don’t tell him,” she says, coming up behind Doc, who’s making coffee in the kitchen, hair a cute, silver wreck from sleeping. Lightning sneaks a hand through it and shuts off her music. 

“Impressive,” Doc grumbles, kissing her cheek. “You regretting all those vodka cranberries you kept making everyone?” 

Lightning doesn’t answer, though, because she’s _distracted._ There’s something weird happening, something _off,_ but she can’t put her finger on it. Nothing is observably out of place; this is a morning like every other morning she’s been lucky enough to share with Doc the last few months: a warm house, black coffee from a French press, eggs and hash browns or even _pancakes_ , if Doc is feeling ambitious, playing phone games while Doc reads the paper, 50s jazz playing from 5 CD changer Lightning bullied Doc into installing— _wait._

 _“_ Are you listening to _Christmas_ music?!” she snaps incredulously, tearing away from Doc’s lazy embrace, _betrayed._ Doc stares at her, crystal-blue eyes bemusedly twinkling, so pretty Lightning can’t even really stay the proper amount of mad at her because she’s jus so goddamned handsome. So she looks away instead, bracing her hands on the counter and staring into the drain of the stainless steel sink. _“_ You _are!_ I thought this was regular Ella but it’s _Christmas Ella!”_

Doc laughs. “Well, yeah. It’s the day after Thanksgiving, it’s officially the season.” 

“The _season?!”_ Lightning barks, pouring herself a glass of water which she chugs in a matter of seconds, Doc’s gaze fixed on her throat the whole time. Which is a shame, it’s not even _fun_ to be ogled when there’s Christmas music playing. It feels weird. “I had no idea you were a _Christmas_ person,” she accuses after swallowing. “Truly out of left field. I’d thought you’d be a big Scrooge like me. You’re a scrooge about everything else.” 

“I’m _not,”_ Doc says, brows furrowing fondly. “You’re confusing real-me with the perpetually grumpy version of me from the few months ago. The one who thought she was hung up on on some impossible girl in an unrequited love situation, remember? That version of me died. M’all sunshine and rainbows now.” 

“Ok, fine, yeah, you’ve been pretty delightful,” Lightning sighs, trading her water cup for a coffee mug. The ache of a run out in the cold is starting to settle into her joints, and it’s hitting her that she hasn’t had any caffeine today, which is a hangover _must. “_ But you still don’t really strike me as the Christmas _type,_ I guess.” 

Doc shrugs. “I didn’t used to be. For a long time I didn’t really think about it, but after I moved to Radiator Springs…well. Folks go hard here for Christmas. If you hate the holidays you’re gonna be having a pretty hard off-season.” 

“Go hard?! What does that mean?” Lightning groans, cupping her palms around her steaming mug to thaw them. “Will I be expected to carol? Because m’not fucking caroling. It’s just not happening.” 

Doc laughs, hooking a finger under the sweaty elastic of Lightning’s bra and dragging her in to squeeze. “Damn, you’re cute. Had no idea you were so anti-Christmas. We don’t have to make a big deal about it if it’ll get you all bent out of shape, you know. M’not sold on a big celebration, just want to be with you.” 

Lightning is always very weak in Doc’s arms, against the solidity of her body, so she sort of sags in defeat once they’re close, only shifting to free her coffee enough to sip. “No, I don’t want to cramp _your_ style, either. And maybe. I dunno I’ve never really _done_ Christmas, maybe I could be persuaded,” she mumbles, rubbing her flushed face into Doc’s plaid robe. “You smell good. You can get me to do a lot of things, you know.” 

Doc slides a hand up into Lightning’s bra to cup her sweaty side boob. “Oh, I know.” 

—-

Turns out Doc wasn’t exaggerating about Radiator Springs. Within the _week,_ the whole town is decorated elaborately. There’s giant, fully trimmed and hideously gaudy foil tree up at Flo’s, red and green tinsel coiled artfully up Luigi and Guido’s tire tower, and even _Mater_ puts a huge and presumably handmade Santa hat on the broken tractor outside his junkyard. Every street lamp and public structure is positively _decked out_ in lights, so much so Lightning gets dizzy and bleary-eyed just driving around town. _They’re a hazard_ she thinks about saying, but Doc likes it all so much, and she likes seeing Doc happy, so she keeps all her complaints locked up. 

She must not be doing a great job of faking it though, because Doc always switches off the Christmas music when she comes home, and they don’t get a tree, even though literally everyone else in town clearly has already and brags about them any chance they get.

One particularly snowy December afternoon, when they’re sprawled out in bed after having fucked with Lightning between Doc’s legs, sticky face resting on her thigh, she has a revelation. “Listen,” she slurs, since she’s feeling generous and euphoric and all the sorts of stuff you’re supposed to feel during the Holidays. “If you want to get a tree and do Christmas, we can. I really don’t mind.” 

Doc reaches down, twists her fingers gently through Lightning’s rucked up hair, rubbing at her scalp so sweet and nice Lighting’s eyes drift shut. “Why do you hate it so much? Christmas, I mean. Like, you got some traumatic memory you’re not telling me about? Did some mall Santa push you down a slide with his boot?” 

Lightning scoffs. “Nothing _traumatic_ happened, nothing happened at all. I don’t like it because I don’t get it?” she explains, pressing one more lingering kiss to the soft, loose skin of Doc’s thigh before she clambers back up the bed and collapses beside her. “It was never a _thing_ for me. I was dirt poor in a trailer park growing up and my mom always got really depressed around the holidays because…I dunno, memories I guess. We didn’t do anything, we never celebrated, so for me it was just the time of the year where my friends got cool presents or went on vacation and I worried my mom would drink herself to death. It sucked.” 

Doc is very quiet for a moment, before she curls one strong, sinewy arm around Lightning’s shoulders and pulls her close, kisses her forehead. “Dunno what you’re definition of trauma is, kid, but that sounds pretty traumatic to me.” 

Lightning sniffles, burrowing closer to Doc. “I dunno. Seems too anti-climactic to be traumatic. It was just boring and annoying and I resented it forever. And then when I started racing and had money for the first time in my life, I had no friends to spend it on, just shitty NASCAR sponsor Holiday parties I had to go to where big-wigs would get drunk on egg nog and try to grab my ass. I haven’t actually _had_ anyone to celebrate Christmas with until this year, so. That’s why m’willing to try it.” 

Doc rolls her over onto her back, hands skating soft and reverent all over her hips, her thighs, like she’s touching her for the first time. She’s being so _gentle_ and Lightning sort of wants to cry, so overwhelmed with gratitude for the fact she’s got a girlfriend who knows how to take care of her, who fucks her hard and rough when she needs it, but treats her like glass when she’s feeling fragile. Everyone always expects her to be so goddamned _strong,_ because it’s the front she’s put on her whole life. It’s amazing to have a woman kiss the corner of her mouth sweet like a whisper and murmur, “Well, if we do, I’ll make it so fucking good for you, babygirl. Give you the best Christmas anyone’s ever had.” 

Lightning not sure why, but her eyes are leaking from the corners and she’s all sniffly. “Ok,” she mumbles as Doc thumbs away the tears. “But you gotta show me what to do. How to bake cookies and ice skate and deck the halls and all that shit. I’m a newb.” Doc laughs against her pulse, breath hot and delicious, making something clench low in her gut. Lightning throws one of her legs over Doc’s hip and draws herself close enough to rub herself against her thigh, eyes getting hooded, dark.

“I’ll show you everything,” Doc growls against her ear, and Lightning shudders. “I’ve got you.” 

And that’s such a _good_ fucking thing to hear, to relinquish control and float into, untethered. 

—-

So, they get a tree from a cute little farm out in Ornament Valley, where a grizzled old man legit chops it down and straps it to the top of Doc’s Lincoln like it’s 1955.They take it home and play Bing Crosby on the turntable while they hang ornaments and garlands on it, and Lightning actually has a pretty good time, because Doc buys her an expensive top-shelf brandy to drink while they do it, and Christmas trees smell really delicious, which she didn’t know before because she never actually got _close_ enough to one to sniff it. “Ok, this is fun. This is good stuff,” Lightning announces, skating into the living room on a brand new pair of red and white candy-cane striped socks she bought herself at the Dollar Tree because she was trying to be a good, festive sport. 

“Aren’t you pretty?” Doc says fondly, hooking an arm around Lightning’s lower back and pulling her close. “Love you in red.” 

“I’m trying,” Lightning mumbles, even though she’s really just wearing one of her usual pairs of joggers and a white tank-top. “It’s easier with booze. It can be a tradition. You make traditions at Christmas, right? Well mine is being drunk while we do decorating stuff.” 

“You’re not the first one to come up with that one,” Doc teases, kissing her rough and warm and _oh,_ Lightning’s knees buckle and she almost spills onto the floor. Luckily Doc knows that happens then they kiss sometimes so she hauls her up in time. “Easy, baby.” 

“You know, I sort of _did_ have one tradition with my mom, I guess? I never thought of it as a special thing, but we’d always get Boston Market Mac and Cheese on Christmas Eve because it was like, the only place in town that was open,” Lightning admits, cheeks getting hot as it comes out of her mouth. She's not sure if she feels embarassed, or ashamed, or if it’s just the ghost of those things haunting her, the memory of being looked at funny for hand-me down clothes or her friends’ shock and incredulity when she said _nothing_ in response to being asked what she was doing over Christmas break. Doc looks at her with warm eyes, though, rubs her palms up and down Lightning’s arms tenderly. 

“We can do that, I think there’s one a few towns over,” she suggests. 

“No, god, please, let’s have some honest to god decent food. And brandy,” she mumbles, throwing back another nervous sip. Bing is crooning about snow, and his voice is pleasant enough, so she tries on saying, “This song is nice.” 

Doc chuckles and kisses her temple. “We can switch back to Dolly Parton if you want. I know you like Dolly Parton.” 

“What can I say, it’s trashy gay blonde solidarity,” Lightning quips, feeling drunk and warm and _protected_ in a way she couldn't describe, even if she had to. And then, they make out on the couch to Hard Candy Christmas and Doc tastes like spice and brown liquor and comfort and home, and for a minute, Lightning thinks she maybe _gets_ it. Why people get so mushy around December.

—-

They get invited to a party at Flo and Ramone’s, a white elephant exchange for everyone in town three days before Christmas. “Shit, _presents,”_ Lightning realizes, frozen on the couch after reading the fine-print on the invitation, legs in Doc’s lap. “I sort of forgot that part.” 

“You only have to get one for these sorts of things, and it can be a joke,” Doc explains, rubbing Lightning’s calves thoughtfully, thumbing into tight muscle. “But if you want to do real gifts for everyone, I’ll take you out shopping. We can hit a mall, a secondhand store, a _craft store_ if you’re feeling creative. Whatever you want.” 

Lightning whines wordlessly, overwhelmed. “I don’t like this pressure. I see something that reminds me of Mater or Mack or Sally or whatever, I just get it. And give it to them there in the moment, you know? Like that stupid hat I bought for Mater at a rest stop?” 

“The one that said “women love me, fish fear me?” yeah, I remember.” 

“Well, it’s weird to get everyone you know gifts on like, the same day. It feels forced,” she explains, wincing as Doc digs into the meat of her calf. “Jesus that hurts.” 

“Your fault for never stretching after you jog,” Doc reminds her, bending to kiss her knee. “We don’t have to do gifts if you don’t want to, or we can do something generic, like baskets with jams of gift certificates. It’s up to you.” 

Lightning frowns, picking at her sleeve. The truth is, she actually just wants to shop for _Doc._ There are one hundred gifts she can think of off the top of her head, and only half of them are sex-related. She’s pretty sure she could find the rest at a department store, but the idea of going out to shop only weeks before Christmas _alone_ or even with Sally or Mater is positively terrifying. “I”ll think about it,” she mumbles. “But maybe we can do actual presents next year, once I've gotten my feet wet with the whole Christmas thing. So, don’t get me anything.” 

“Too late,” Doc says, shooting her a sidelong grin. “But I’ll pump the breaks a little.” 

“You better, old woman. Cant have you showing me up,” Lightning says, digging her toes into Doc’s side. She feels warm all over, though, _excited,_ even, knowing that for the first time in her life, she might have a gift to open on Christmas morning that’s not just another year’s supply of diaper rash cream from Rusty and Dusty. The thought of Doc caring, Doc _thinking_ of her, collecting things for her…It soothes the sting of years worth of childhood disappointment and embarrassment just a little, and she feels almost _giddy_ with the thought, so she hides her smile under her arm so it doesn’t burn a hole through Doc’s ceiling. 

—-

Lightning wakes up hungover on Christmas eve, too. But this time she’s so tired and warm and comfy she can’t motivate herself to get up, so she doesn’t. She snuggles against Doc’s back until Doc kisses her head and slips out of bed, tucks the comforter around her so she can sleep in. When she wanders out sometimes part noon with a headache, there’s snow falling lightly outside, swirling down like flour from a sifter, and the whole house smells amazing. “Fuck,” she groans, staggering into the kitchen. “I need coffee. M’dead. Are you baking?” 

“My sweet girl,” Doc murmurs, tugging her in by her wrist. “You’re gonna have to slow down with the drinking when the season starts. And yeah, there are cookies in the oven.” 

“Psh, I _know,”_ Lightning gripes, collapsing at the kitchenette table as Doc pours her a mug. “I’m on vacation! It’s Christmas, m’supposed to let myself go, right? Bring on the calories, babe.” 

“Speaking of calories,” Doc says, opening up the fridge and brandishing two flimsy, cylindrical Tupperware full of mac and cheese. The recognition dawns slowly, but as soon as Lightning figures it out, she gasps. Doc smiles at her sheepishly. “I went out early and got you your Boston Market. I know you said not to, but—“ 

“Oh my god, Lightning breathes, hands flying up to clasp over her mouth, heart clenching. “You—you did my one crappy tradition!” 

“Yeah,” Doc mumbles, actually half-blushing for once, rubbing anxiously at the back of her neck. “If you hate the idea we’ll just freeze it and I’ll cook you something different tonight, but—”

“No! No…I love it,” Lightning sniffles, eyes pricking up again because she’s apparently a sentimental softie no matter how hard she tries to prove otherwise. “I had no _idea_ this would make me all emotional, I—I don’t even _know,_ half the time, what’s gonna make me cry or not. Sorry I'm such a mess.” 

“You’re not a mess,” Doc says gently, sitting down on a chair at the table and dragging it right up next to Lightning so their knees can touch. “You’re a girl and you’re _human_ and you have feelings and I love them all, ok?” 

“Ok,” Lightning mumbles, wringing her hands, feeling all raw and exposed, like the shiny pink skin under a scab that’s been picked off, and just as gross. She hates feeling like every single of he her emotions is painted all over her face, but at least it’s only _Doc,_ here. Doc who loves her, for some reason. Not just the girl she is on TV, but the girl she is here, hungover on Christmas Eve, too. “I love Boston Market, by the way. You’re a real winner.” 

Doc shrugs, sidling close enough to clap a hand down on Lightning’s thigh. “Well. I love _you_.” 

Lightning _really_ wants to stop crying, but it’s just not happening, She wipes her eyes, and Doc gets a sad, plaintive look on her face. “Baby,” she murmurs, kissing her cheek. “What’re you sad about, huh? Help me understand.” 

Lightning inhales raggedly. “M’ _not_ sad, really. It’s more like. You’re just, the best girlfriend in the world, but also, somehow…the best _mom?_ Like, I sort of wish you were both. And it’s weird, and confusing, and I have confused feelings about it.”

Lightning half-expects Doc to redirect the conversation or even _freak out_ at that, but instead she just smirks, slides her hand even further up her thigh, squeezing gently. “Are they really that confused?” she asks, raising a salt and pepper eyebrow pointedly. 

Lightning thinks about it. “Ok, no…” she mumbles, “They’re not confused, they’re sexy. But I have confused feeling about you being a hot mom, I guess?” 

Doc kisses her cheek and then she settles back into her chair, holding her arms behind her head and reclining in this very smug way that makes Lightning want to crawl into her lap and beg for something. She's clumsy right now though so instead she just pitches forward awkwardly, already missing the contact. “I think you should just stop worrying about it,” Doc offers, shrugging. “Straight girls get to have their _daddy_ issues and no one ever bats an eye, what about us, huh?” Then she shoots a crystalline, infinitely blue glance at Lightning, so sharp it aches in her chest. “ Think you should just let me take care of my little girl, like I want to.” 

Lightning’s insides coil up into a leaden know which plummets so hard she has to squirm. Doc _does_ this sometimes, just says stuff that’s not actually that dirty at all but it _feels_ so intimate, so _specific_ that she throbs with want just _hearing_ it. Maybe it’s because Doc knows what she _wants,_ always, without her even having to spell out all the messy details of it. She just _knows. “_ You don’t think it’s weird? That part of why you turn me on so much is that—like—um“ she sputters, cheeks coloring because the whole thing feels _unspeakable,_ even though here they are, talking about it, just like they talk about any other aspect of their relationship which feels new or relevant. 

“Hmm,” Doc says, interrupting her to stand, offering a hand to haul Lightning to her feet. “Spit it out, babygirl.” 

“Ugh,” she groans. “That I want to like!! I dunno, play around with that! Call you mommy, and stuff. Oh my god,” she says then, immediately collapsing to hide her face in Doc’s flannel. “I cannot believe I just told you that.” 

“C’mon,” Doc murmurs, steering her gently backwards and down the hall to the bedroom. “You know I get off on taking care of you, right? That I can make you do anything I want because you just wanna be my good girl, so bad?” she murmurs into her eat after she gets her on her back in bed, hands wandering gently up and down her sides. “So, how’s that not the flip side of whatever you’re talking about?” 

“I guess it is,” she murmurs, squirming under Doc’s firm, insistent kisses. “It totally is. I just. I’m still embarassed. M’also like…horny? You make me _so wet,_ so fast. Just talking like that. Like—“ She cuts herself off with a ragged breath, which staggers out of her before she adds, “like my mommy.” 

Doc moans roughly, slides a hand down to possessively squeeze Lightning’s ass through her sweats. “Turns me on too, sweetheart. Love thinking of you needing me like that. Needing me every way.” 

“I do need you every way,” she admits, sliding her hands up the inside of Doc’s shirt to touch her, feeling weirdly tentative about it, like she’s never done it before, like she needs direction/ “Show me what you want, mommy,” she murmurs, cheeks burning, cunt feeling hot and swollen as she mindlessly pumps her hips. “Want to make you feel good.” 

Doc works her hand under the waistband of her pants to touch skin, palming her ass apart, moving down to grip her thighs hungrily. “No, I want to make _you_ feel good, angel. Want my baby girl to have the best Christmas. Want her to feel so special.” 

“Oh god,” Lightning murmurs, gasping as Doc moves her hand to cup her cunt through the threadbare cotton of her sweats, rubbing gently. 

“S’ok if I touch you here?” Doc asks, pausing and holding so the heat of her palm bleeds through the fabric and Lightning has to grind into the pressure if she wants friction, which she _does. “_ You like this?” 

“Yes,” Lightning breathes, humping the heel of Doc’s hand. “Feels so good, mommy.” 

“Can I touch you under these?” she asks, tugging at her sweats. It’s all so stomach burningly _good,_ to be asked about every step along the way, touched carefully, intentionally. “It’ll feel even better.” 

“Please,” Lightning murmurs as she lets Doc undress her, reverently pull her pant down over her thighs, before she confidently spreads them. “God, _please._ M’so—I want more.” 

“My greedy little girl,” Doc growls, kissing her deep, nipping at her bottom lip as she smooths a palm up her thigh to her cunt. She just _pets_ her teasingly at first, brushes her knuckles lightly back and forth through her public hair before she actually pushes deeper. “ _God,_ ” she grinds out then, drawing her fingers up through Lightning’s folds to rub the slickness over her swollen clit. “You’re all messy. You love your mommy touching you, huh? Love being my good girl?” 

“Yes, _so_ much,” Lightning murmurs, stomach already knotting up the way it does when she’s close, waves of heat crashing over her. Doc must sense it because she backs off, firm, intentional rubs ebbing into something gentler, sweeter. “You’re teasing, mommy,” she whimpers, the word already easier to say now that she’s done it a few times, now that she knows Doc _likes_ it. “Make me come.” 

Doc laughs, low and breathy in her throat as she pushes two fingers up inside Lightning, crooking them just right so she cries out, bears down. “I like when you beg, babygirl. You just need it to bad.” 

“I do, I need it,” she whines, fucking herself on Doc’s fingers, hips rolling. 

“You need my mouth, too?” Doc asks before deepening their kiss, making it wetter, hotter. Lightning opens her mouth and sucks on her tongue, trembling under the shifting weight of Doc’s body in anticipation. _Mommy, mommy_ she’s thinking in a messy loop, so fucking close from hardly _anything,_ just the _idea_ of it all pushing her dangerous close to the edge. 

“ _Please,”_ she sobs even though Doc is already going, arranging herself between Lightning’s legs with her fingers still buried palm-deep inside of her, pumping out sweet and slow. It’s the best, hottest burn, and Lightning _knows_ it’s only a matter of minutes before she comes once Doc gets her mouth on her. The first lick _alone_ sends her reeling, thighs reduced to trembles, voice ripped out of her in a animal moan. “Oh _mommy,_ god,” she gasps, one hand moving to tangle in Doc’s hair. “Feels so good, so— _oh—_ please.” 

Doc chuckles against her cunt, the vibration making her jump before she settles into the searing, slick-wet heat of Doc’s lips. Lightning’s been inexpertly eaten out by more than a few girls, but it wasn’t until the first time Doc pushed her legs apart and spent a whole _hour_ there, sucking and licking and fucking her tongue up inside her until she came so many times she lost count, that she felt as if she really _understood_ the fuss girls made when she went down on them. Doc is a fucking _artist_ at this, so practiced and competent and thorough Lightning _always_ feels deeply loved and coveted when she’s here, but _this time_ it’s so overwhelming she feels like she’ll drown. “Just lemme take care of you, babygirl,” Doc murmurs when she starts to try and chase her orgasm, hips bucking insistently. “Let your mommy just hold you open and eat you up.” 

“ _God,”_ Lightning whines, eyes streaming and face hot as her palms fly to cover her face. It’s so _good,_ Doc’s fingers inside of her, her lips around her clit as she sucks firm and sweet. In seconds she feels an almost unexpected orgasm wash over her, a series of deep, stomach-wrenching shudders as she pulses against Doc’s tongue. “Mommy,” she whimpers, writhing on the bed when Doc doesn’t _stop,_ instead holding her pinned and parted like a butterfly on a cork board as she keeps licking over her sensitive clit. 

“You can come again for me, babygirl, I can feel it,” she mumbles, breath hot and ticklish against Lightning’s cut before she dives back in, mouth open wide, tongue moving lazily, gently, but intentionally. She’s fucking her deeper now, pushing past that spot inside her with her fingers straight, giving all of Lightning’s most sensitive spots a break to work her up again. 

It doesn’t take long, because Lightning is blissed out and overwhelmed and filled to the point of _overflow_ with love and adoration and maybe even Christmas spirit, or something. She comes a second time, so fast and powerful a shout is punched out of her and she collapses into mush shortly after, tears all over her cheeks. “How do you _do that,”_ she wheezes, shivering as Doc clambers up and pulls her whole quaking body into her arms. “Not just the orgasms part but like—how do you always know _exactly_ what I need?” 

“Because m’your mommy, angel,” Doc says gruffly, tangling her hands up in her hair and tilting her back to kiss. “And that’s my job.” 

Lightning dissolves into messy, overwhelmed pieces at that, trembling in Doc’s embrace, rubbing against her wherever she can reach, desperate to feel swallowed, held, consumed. “I love you,” she mumbles as she pulls away long enough to suck in a desperate breath. “Thank you for the Christmas present. I think I like. Officially like the holiday now.” 

“Well,” Doc says, shrugging, dipping forward to plant a wet kiss to her cheek. “I’ll consider that a success. I do have a way with petulant brats.” 

“Hey!” I thought you said I was an angel,” Lightning fake pouts, trying hard to keep her reflexive smile from overtaking her face. 

Doc grins and ruffles her hair, rolls her back into her back so she can straddle her. “You’re a brat, _and_ an angel. But mostly, my good girl,” she says gently, shifting her hips against Lightning’s, suggestively. “But hey, that doesn't have to be a Christmas thing, you know. I can be your mommy year round, when you want it.” 

Lightning beams, squirming under Doc’s weight. “Ok,” she says, smiling a hand up Doc’s chest to grab her by the collar of her worn flannel and drag her down. “I’m gonna take you up on that. But first, m’gonna give you _your_ Christmas present. Or, Christmas Eve present, whatever. And then we’re gonna eat cookies for breakfast. And Boston Market for dinner. And instead of being horrible it’s gonna be perfect, because you’re the best mom ever.” 

“Oh yeah?” Doc says fondly, kissing the corner of Lightning’s mouth before sneaking biting it, ring her teeth over the sharp edge of a smile. “You gonna get me one of those cheesy mugs that says Mom of the Year or whatever?” 

“Or a hat that says ‘women love me, fish fear me’,” Lightning murmurs. “Haven’t decided yet.” 

And Doc laughs so hard at that, and it fills up Lighting’s chest with something bright and aching and lovely, and she decides that maybe things _do_ feel more magic or special or Christmas. It’s sort of like being in love. 


End file.
